Venus
by Mille Vera
Summary: High school is a cruel mistress. Two-shot. Semi-AU.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: I know, I should be working on my other stories.  
****I had an idea. Please, don't sue. **

**Enjoy, instead.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Friends.**

* * *

A nightmare, more than likely.

A nightmare of sweat and fear, colliding with his mortal body. It would not be easy to cope with; this had to have been the single worst day of his life. That was saying something, too, considering his track record. He desperately wanted to slam his fist onto the desk, breaking it in half, even though he didn't have half the strength require to do so. Either way, it would have been justified, if only by himself.

**_Melissa_**.

He hated that name. It broke his heart to think about, and it left him broken and destroyed. It made his chest literally ache, and sent shivers up his spine to his extremities, almost paralyzing. The fact that she didn't even had an explanation for her actions made it even worse. It wasn't as if he had done anything wrong. He treated her with respect and care, giving her attention and space whenever she needed it. But like a blade from the water, she dumped him, for absolutely no reason. It hurt, like a thousand needles puncturing his skin, and did not even do the justice of killing him.

It wasn't fair.

Everything she had said must have been a lie. It _had_ to be. She had a look on her face that simply screamed her disregard for his feelings. Three months. Three months they had been together, and, while it seemed like a small amount of time for most, for Ross, it was a gift. He was never the outgoing type, nor had he ever considered himself 'handsome'. His car, an authentic 1972 Ford Pinto, which he had to pay for out of his own pocket, wasn't a babe magnet in any way. All he really had was his intelligence, and that meant _nothing_ to women his age. His romantic life was failing from it's already near non-existent status; because of this, he would go to great measures for female attention.

_Any_ female attention.

He was lucky enough to have a girlfriend at all, let alone a beauty such as Melissa. She started out as the shy, pretty girl who always borrowed a pencil from Ross, but never returned them. He was, of course, happy to help her. Eventually, after several months, he had the guts to ask her out. Even though they didn't really have any extended conversation, she accepted, and it went on from there.

For the three months they dated, Ross actually believed he _mattered_ to someone. It was the most unbelievable experience in the world. She had kissed him, on the cheek _and_ the lips. They held hands everywhere, and she wasn't even ashamed to be seen with him. He had never been happier.

However, things change.

Melissa chose the worst time to break up with him for no reason (Although, it wasn't as if there was a _right_ time): Monday morning. The beginning of the day _and_ week. For six hours a day, Ross would have to walk around with a fake smile plastered on his face. For seven days, he would have to control his grief around his family and friends as to not let it affect his judgment. No time to grieve whatsoever. All he could do was focus on school, no matter how much suffering he went through.

So, he sat in first period: History. Of course, his teacher had given a pop quiz; no better way to salt the wound, in his opinion. Like many tests, it had questions about subjects that weren't even taught yet. Although, while obscure, his mind was a bit preoccupied, to say the least. Concentration came in droves, at best, and Ross could not apply himself at all. He was ready to cry. Not twenty minutes ago his spirit was shattered; didn't he deserve a break? No. Of course not. It's teenage love. It doesn't mean anything.

No one except him even cares.

He wanted to just snap his pencil in half, and fling the pieces across the room as if they were chunks of his own soul. Not a very intimidating gesture, but it would release some of his stress, at least. However, he couldn't bring himself to do it. It was not something he would do. Ross usually thought before he acted, and he could proudly say that he had avoided trouble because of it. So, instead of doing something foolish, he steadied himself the best he could, took a deep breath, and precariously looked down towards the end of the page. Sixteen questions left. Not one of them he could bring the answer to without actually thinking about it. In the end, he chose to just sit there, motionless, beads of depressing sweat inching their way down his neck. Was it even _worth_ it? One failed pop quiz wasn't even going to drop his grade to an A-, let alone actually infringe on his sacred 4.0 GPA.

He left the rest of the page blank. He didn't care. For the first time, his wild streak flared, even though it bordered more on absurdity than rambunctiousness. Although, he truly didn't care. He just stood up, laced with apathy. No one noticed, like usual. It was probably better that way, though; less attention means less to deal with. He put the paper face down into the basket so no one would catch his collapse while he was standing. At his desk, the most anyone would do is look at him with a disappointed head shake. That, he could take, even with a broken heart.

After sliding back into his seat, he laid his head down, and cried to himself for the rest of the hour.

The following class, Gym, seemed to be a light at the end of the tunnel. He could get away from it all, hanging out with the few friends he had, and doing some physical activity, even though that was his bane. It didn't matter, however; he just didn't care for anything or anyone anymore.

As he reached the locker room, his backpack strap tore a bit. It pissed him off. He had only bought it a couple days ago, at top retail price. Despite this, Ross chose to ignore it, thinking that getting angry at something so trivial was useless. He trudged to his dirty locker, but his mood lightened a bit as he saw his friend Will.

"Hi."

"'Sup, man. You alright?" Will asked, slipping his cleats on. He knew that they were going to play football today, which he had an advantage at due to his weight. Ross, however, was not so lucky. His lanky form would make him timber easily; this made him pout a bit more, even though it didn't really matter.

"Melissa dumped me."

"Oh, _dude_. That blows. I'm sorry." He didn't have any experience with women, but he could see the pain in Ross's eyes. It hurt like hell, obviously. Both for Ross, and to see his best friend in a state like this. It was as if he'd never been lower. To circumvent this, Will patted Ross on the shoulder with a brotherly frown.

"It's fine, I guess. I just wanna forget about it." He didn't _really_ want to forget about it, but it was probably better if he did. The hatred was starting to pile up, and he just wanted to release it. Maybe, just maybe, if he tried hard enough, he would be able to at least bruise someone today.

Will nodded, empathizing with his friend. He couldn't really say much more to help, seeing as Ross dismissed it without further detail. Instead, he decided to help out by just being there for him, like a guy should. Most women talked about things like this; men usually kept quiet and took their minds off of it with some violence or beer.

Only the former was possible.

So, when they were on the field after running laps, Will persuaded an angry and burdened Ross to be tackle with him. It may not have been the smartest move, but Ross could probably handle it in the state he was in. The guy across from him wasn't all that big, either; he was average on all accounts. This made Ross a little happier. He wouldn't hurt the kid, but he would certainly do enough damage to get his mind off of Melissa.

It wasn't even that hard, not with so much dwindling anger behind it.

For the entire game, he managed to hold his own. He even knocked the guy down once, backwards. It was fun; the most fun he had in a long time. He always hated sports, but this time, he actually enjoyed it. He had completely forgotten about Melissa. The day was turning around, and soon Ross was feeling so much better.

Inbetween games, Ross sat on the bench, guzzling water. Will was practically dead, so Ross tossed him Gatorade, fresh from the icepack his mother gave him. She was always smothering him, but then again, that's what mothers do.

As they cooled off, they noticed the actual football team heading for the track; followed by the cheerleaders, which were headed by none other than the lustrous Rachel Green.

"Hey, dude. Look." He tapped Will on his arm to get his attention, which he did. Ross knew that Will didn't like Rachel that much, but _he _did, and her beauty was just the icing on the cake that was his day. She looked so elegant bouncing across the field, like an angel in a skirt.

"Gross. Ms. Thinks-shes-better-than-everyone-else?" His heavy breathing only spat on her name further, but Ross took no offense. She **_was_ **better than everyone else; she was pretty, she was popular, and, more importantly, Ross was in love with her.

"It's true, y'know."

"Yeah, okay bro. Come on."

The next game was starting. Their team lined up, this time on offense. Ross wasn't exactly savvy on the rules of football, so he believed that all he had to do was keep anyone from getting past him; easier said than done. Ross

They got in formation, Ross kept his eyes locked to the grass. His curled hair, glazed with sweat, drooped past his ears. He was tired, no doubt, but he still had to push on. Looking up, he was met with a surprise. His opponent was no longer in front of him. Instead, he saw Chip Matthews, captain of the football team, heading towards him, stripping off his letterman jacket. In a flash, almost as if it were second nature, Chip dropped to a flawless three-point stance directly in front of Ross, which rightfully frightened Ross.

This was not going to end well.

Chip didn't even look at Ross; his gaze was fixated straight ahead. Determination seemingly washed over him, and for whatever reason he decided to join the game, Chip was ready to just blast through the entire offensive line, and Ross especially.

Before Ross could realize it, the ball was snapped.

Immediately, Chip lurched forward, like a cobra attacking it's prey. In mere microseconds, Ross was laying on the ground, having no chance whatsoever to push back. It was almost like being hit by a truck, except there was a smaller chance of dying. Ross, to no avail, attempted to ignore the pain of hitting the cold, hard dirt. He watched Chip leap over him, and presumably take out the quarterback.

He did, in two seconds flat.

Second down: Again, Chip squatted in front of Ross. Ross managed to get up, but was affected by his fall. Dazed and teary-eyed, he got back into position. He had never been hit so hard in his entire life, not even by Monica. He could almost see clearly, and could made out Rachel in the background, pom-poms crossed over her chest.

He was given a few seconds to recover when the quarterback had to tie his shoe; when his eyes focused, he saw her, smiling. Rachel was smiling, and looking directly at Chip.

Instantly, Ross's happiness was flushed away, and replaced by a fury hotter than the sun. The woman he loved, smiling at his pain. Even though Chip wasn't her boyfriend yet, it was only a matter of time. Jocks and cheerleaders were practically made for each other.

Ross didn't think anymore. He was too angry. At Melissa, at Chip, and at Rachel. When the ball snapped, Chip came forward; as did Ross. They collided like trains, and although Chip was much bigger and much faster, Ross pushed with all of his might, and managed to hold him back for a couple seconds until he was knocked down again, the play ended soon after as the quarterback was sacked again.

Ross, still on his back, saw Chip stand over him. To his surprise, he was not kicked or insulted or even laughed at. Instead, he held his hand out to Ross, offering to help him back up. Despite this friendly act, Ross, his usual skepticism flaring, stood up by himself. The pain was manageable this time; he was quite proud of himself, in his own right.

"You've got some bite." Chip stated, smirking. He wiped his hand on his jeans, as to not seem like he tried to be nice in front of everyone and was refused.

Ross faced his attacker, but didn't reply. He was much too out of breath, and still pretty mad. Instead, he just glared at him, menacingly even, and walked back to the bench; Will soon followed, confused, ignoring the narcissistic football star. The two of them sat down, and watched as Chip walked back to his ilk, as if nothing happened.

"Dude, you're bleeding."

"Where?"

Will scratched his own cheek, and Ross mimicked it, feeling the stinging sensation and the drop of blood forming on his finger. Sure enough, he had cut himself, but unsure how. The grass must have been swords when he fell, as even though it was a small laceration, Ross could barely believe it.

With that, Ross stood back up slowly, and retreated back to the locker room, where he decided to remain for the rest of the class. Will followed, deciding that he didn't want to play either. Instead, they chatted about their favorite subject: Paleontology. While they were scolded for shunning physical activity minutes later, they didn't care. This was who they were; what they loved doing.

However, after lunch, they had to part ways. With nothing to take his mind off of it, the lash of Melissa's breakup hit him hard again. Thankfully, he only had two more classes to deal with. Two more classes to wallow in, without anyone to bother him.

First, Algebra. One of his stronger subjects. He made it through without a hitch, since he had to concentrate on nothing else than the pop quiz that was sprung on him. It wasn't as bad as the one in history; he was actually engaged, and aced it.

Not as many tears this time, but still, he quivered.

Finally, after walking like a zombie through the halls, he was in his favorite class: Biology. He was going to dissect a squirrel today. While Ross didn't _love_ the idea, he was happy to learn. It was the curse of being an academic; morality often conflicted with _**everything**_. No one had ever thought that it the school board would consider it, even though it was just a little rodent.

Ross worked alone, for now. He made the mistake of pretending that the squirrel was Melissa and/or Chip. Instead of cutting the skin to peel it off, he managed to cut through the entire ribcage in one swoop. No one noticed, thankfully, but still, Ross needed to control himself, otherwise he would only get in trouble.

For the rest of the class, he decided to squash his feelings and follow the instructions to the letter. Like usual, finished before everyone else, and disposed of the carcass before cleaning up at his station. He kept his lunch down, and sat back in his seat. There were no tears, nor were there chills. It was almost a good thing.

Until the bell rang.

As he walked out of the class and towards the parking lot, he saw her. Melissa. She sat there, on the ground, staring into space, tapping her notebook with a pencil that _he_ gave her. Ross debated on whether or not to confront her, but he decided to let it go; it would only hurt him more to hear her soft yet haughty voice echo through his ears.

Instead, he walked straight past her amongst the throngs of people, not even giving her the slightest glance. He would almost be proud of himself if he hadn't teared up while walking away. She wasn't even sorry; no remorse whatsoever. He believed it, and it was true. Ross's first girlfriend would be the one to break his heart the hardest.

He dried his cheeks for the ride home. He had to stay strong for just a little longer. As he caught his sister Monica talking to none other than Rachel herself, he swallowed his terror and approached them, thankful that none of Rachel's other friends were there to observe is lower status.

"Mon." His voice was softer than usual, but he kept composure; the last thing he needed was Monica on his case. Apparently, neither of them noticed or heard him, so he had to repeat her name again. She turned to him with a blank yet almost annoyed expression.

"Oh. Hey."

"You, uh, ready?"

"Yeah. Bye, Rach." She said goodbye to her friend, who seemed more modest now, instead of the usual pretentiousness that picked up her dress wherever she went. The two of them hugged, and Monica turned to walk with her brother.

"Bye, Mon! Bye, Ross." Her voice was lethargic at his name; mostly because she didn't know Ross as much. Ross, however, took it as a sign of her dislike for him. It didn't hurt too bad, but still. The only reason he could go near her was because of Monica.

Rachel waved to them, while Ross nodded back shyly, and led his sister to the car. He managed to hold in the swirl of emotions that threatened to break free, and luckily, not an ounce of suspicion came from Monica, or at least that's what he could tell from the corner of his eye. It was a good thing, too, as he didn't need her input, which was usually an insult as to how he was such a dork and how he embarrassed her.

They entered the car, but instead of promptly leaving like usual, Ross burst into tears, unable to keep his sorrow down any longer.


	2. Chapter 2

A look of horror and bewilderment glazed itself upon Monica's face.

Not once had she seen Ross like this. He cried, but never this much, with this passion for pain. It was a reunion of the heart and mind, creating a fiery explosion that rocked the foundations of his soul. The river of tears that was making its way down his cheeks soiled his shirt, but he didn't care at all. The deathgrip he had on the steering wheel turned his knuckles bright white, almost crushing them under his own strength. There were no words, but cries for help could still be heard.

"Ross!" She was terrified; genuinely scared.

He didn't respond the way she had hoped. Instead of answering her pleas, he slammed his fists on the wheel, which dented it slightly. Even Ross was amazed, if only for a moment. His sorrow knew no bounds, however, so he continued his erratic and gradually bullish sobbing. This was strange. He wanted to stop crying, badly, but he couldn't. Something in his mind kept him going, and it was a sadistic thought. Melissa? Rachel? The realization that he _could_ cry as much as he wanted to, now that he wasn't around anyone who'd make fun of him? Monica usually would fill that slot, but he could tell by her voice that she was more concerned than mocking.

In tune with her fear, she deliberately placed her hand on his shoulder. To each other's surprise, Ross didn't push her away. He took her sentiment in mere moments, and lifted his head off of the steering wheel. Without looking at her, he spoke, tears still pouring out of his eyes.

"M-Melissa..." He hiccupped in dismay, hoping to say as less as possible to get his message across. He didn't outright believe that this was because of _her_, but there appeared to be no other plausible choice.

"Melissa? What about Melissa?" In an almost therapeutic fashion, Monica tried to get answers out of Ross. It was easy enough to get him to crack, usually, since she had so much experience helping her friends with things like this.

Instead of answering, however, Ross merely shook his head. Whatever ailed him, it hurt too much to let out. The pain was unbearable, obviously, and Monica didn't know what to do. She was as frightened as he was rueful. Ross never really told her about anything relating to him or his life, but he let out a few things at the dinner table; one of them was Melissa. Outside of her name, though, Monica knew nothing about her.

"Ross..." Monica squeezed his shoulder lovingly, but he cringed for some reason, so she let go.

After several minutes of weeping, Ross was able to catch his breath for a moment, but was still much too disturbed to talk. He couldn't feel anything else but torment. It had gotten to the point where Monica could feel it as well; it felt unlike anything she had felt before, that much was certain.

"Melissa dumped me." His voice was broken, and the words made him wince in pain. It was much more than anything emotional; his heart was ready to burst. Ross never knew losing his first girlfriend would hit him so hard. It was unreal.

"Oh my god, Ross. I'm sorry..." It was quite a shock to Monica. Every time she had seen him and Melissa together, they seemed so happy. She couldn't imagine them having problems at all, let alone breaking up.

After receiving her condolences, Ross shook his head, and placed his hand over his eyes to block the tears. It was painful to feel it, but even more painful to think about. Melissa practically took his heart and stomped on it, leaving nothing but a puddle of blood. He grimaced, and shut his eyes even tighter than they already were. He could die and not even care, anymore. It was truly the worst feeling in the world.

"Do... Do you want me to drive home?" Again, she placed her hand on his shoulder. Monica frowned, doing her best to help, even though it wasn't enough. She couldn't help him, at least not right now.

He shook his head yes, and without saying another word, Monica stepped out of the car. Ross, on the other hand, could barely move without something aching. So, with all of his fallen might, he sluggishly threw himself into the passenger seat, his head hitting the window. It didn't hurt that much, and Monica didn't notice. She simply got into the driver's seat, and they took off for home, where their havens lied.

The drive home was silent. Neither of them spoke, as it was better that way; Ross didn't want to talk, and Monica didn't want to make him. Instead, at every stoplight, she looked over to her brother. Each time, his cheeks became dryer, and his face less red. He didn't look back, but simply straight ahead. It was a moment for him to cool down, and to gather his bearings.

The tears had stopped, for now. The heart, however, would remain shattered for a long time.

Once they reached their house, Ross immediately retreated to his room, ignoring his parents usual questions of how school was. After Monica had made up a fake excuse of him being extremely tired, she went up and knocked on his door, but there was no answer. She tried to open the door, but it was locked. Ross obviously wanted to be alone; while Monica thought that was a reason to make fun of him, the past few minutes made her re-think all of that. It wasn't worth it. It wouldn't benefit anybody. So, she walked away.

Meanwhile, Ross sat on his bed, keyboard shoved onto his lap. He desperately wanted to smash it, or smash something _with_ it. The mixture of anger and sadness had finally sunk withing the depths and trenches of his soul, and now he wanted to just give up. No one could understand him, or at least he thought. Monica definitely couldn't, and his parents would try and tell him he'd get over it, in time, which he didn't believe at all, no matter how true it actually was.

He tried to play, but every note came out sour and mushy. It may have been a vibrant and grotesque cacophony of notes, but it did not express his feelings clearly enough. Ross hated how he didn't have a decent outlet for something like this. He didn't want to think about it anymore, but he knew this was something he'd never forget. The only thing he _could_ do was cope. But how?

Ross decided it would be best to sleep on it. He could forget a lot of things with sleep; a stressful day, for example. Besides, after being hit so hard in gym, he could use a nap. Before outright falling asleep, however, he went to the bathroom and looked at himself. It was nothing short of seeing a ghoul or a zombie, and yet he had apparently went the entire day looking like that; no one noticed. They probably thought he forgot to bathe, or something stupid like that. They would always judge first, and think later. It was _their_ nature. Why couldn't find someone, **_anyone_**, who would look beyond that, into the person he really was?

He found something during his reverie. A little present from Chip: A bruise. It laid upon his right shoulder; the same one he landed on with the force of rampant wildebeests behind it. It hurt, naturally, but what shocked Ross was the size of it. After removing his shirt, like a quill in an earthquake, it had spilled over him, covering several inches of his arm and shoulderblade. It almost looked _cool_, despite his melancholy mindset. He understood what Will was talking about, earlier. It was like a badge of honor. He _did_ stand up against the head of the football team, and deserved to feel proud of himself, for once, even though he couldn't at the moment.

After dousing his face in cold water, Ross headed back to his room. He laid down on his bed, and observed the blue walls. They were coated in posters of various things, most of them relating to science or comic books, and some were even of Dungeons and Dragons. He laughed, for the first time today. Ross acknowledged a long time ago that this was what he liked; who he was. A nerd. A nerd, who had just been dumped. That's more than most who share his interests could say, at least. He had that much, and he wasn't afraid to say it.

Within minutes, he fell asleep, with what little positive thoughts he could muster running through his minds.

No dreams this time, but plenty of ideas. A blank canvas of possibilities, but no way to paint them. It was probably better if they were locked up, anyway. His thoughts were compromised with the taint of Melissa, and, _strangely_, Rachel.

Why did he think about her? All of the time, when he would be doing something, even with Melissa, Rachel would pop up out of nowhere. It was strange, but almost satisfying, in a way. It didn't make sense, but Ross accepted it. After all, Rachel was his crush, and nothing had changed that yet. The thought of her was different than with anyone else. Ross didn't know why, but there was no use arguing with it.

After what felt like years, he was awakened by a sharp knock on the door. Immediately jumping up, his groggy state almost caused him to trip over his backpack, which he chuckled at. Rubbing his eyes, he opened the door, to find his mother, Judy, holding a tray of what appeared to be lasagna.

"I didn't want to wake you." She smiled, handing him the tray. Her usual motherly instinct made her bring dinner up to him, instead of calling him down. While Monica hated it, Ross didn't take it for granted. He appreciated it.

"Thanks, mom."

"Do you need anything else?" Judy clapped her hands together like a maid, ready to sprint down to the kitchen for her ailing son. Ross was almost freaked out by things like this, and while he liked it, he almost wished the same would happen for Monica.

"I'm, uh, good."

"Okay. Your sister needs your help with something. When your done, of course."

"Gotcha. Bye." He closed the door. Ross set the tray down on his bed, deciding that although he was hungry, he'd help Monica first. He felt sorry for her, in a way, that she didn't get the same attention from their parents as he did. Coupling with the loss of Melissa, he decided that maybe a good deed would help him take his mind off of it.

After knocking on her door and hearing a squeaky 'come in', Ross opened it to reveal Monica knitting. It was one of her many hobbies, and often took her mind off of her neurosis. Although, if she messed up her knit at all, she'd start all over again, which defeated the purpose. Either way, she was happier than usual while doing it, and that's what mattered.

"So, let's talk." Monica set down her knit and patted the area next to her on the bed, signifying him to sit with her. The contrast of their moods was more obvious than the vacuum that lay next to her bed. It was tense, but Monica would not falter.

"About?"

"Melissa! What else?"

"I don't really want to, Mon." As soon as Ross walked further into the room, after hearing her last statement, he made an about-face and headed towards the hallway. This was the last thing he wanted to deal with right now, especially after having just forgotten about most of it due to his nap.

"You have to. It's the only way you're gonna get over her."

"Can't I wait, like a day? I mean, come on. Let me sulk." In all respect, it _was_ a little early to be talking about this, since it _was_ his first break-up. Ross didn't want to talk to anybody yet. Why couldn't Monica see that?

"That's not gonna do anything."

"Yes it will. I'll sulk less tomorrow."

"But if you talk now, you'll feel better faster." Monica didn't know if it that was truly correct, but after that little episode in the car, she was scared. Not even Rachel cried that much, and Rachel _always_ cried.

"Mon-"

"Oh, just do it, Ross! You know you have to, eventually."

"...So who am I gonna talk to? You?" Ross mocked her in the subtlest way possible, but she didn't pick up on it at all. Monica never had a boyfriend before; she couldn't possibly understand what Ross was going through. And even if she did, in the littlest amount, it still couldn't help him. He was lost, and would not be able to find his way for a while.

"Yeah, why not?"

"You've never even had a boyfriend, Monica. How can you possibly help?" He made it blatant now, seeing as Monica wasn't good at picking up hints. Despite his harshness, however, Monica didn't react in a hostile manner like usual.

"Shut up. I help Rachel all the time with her relationship problems. You can't be much different." That much was true, at least. Rachel had the worst luck with boys, despite her status. Every day, a new problem. Her other friends couldn't help, but Monica could, for some reason. At least Rachel showed some gratitude.

"How many problems could _she_ actually have? Furthermore, why do you even **_want_** to help?"

"Believe me, I ask myself that every day. And I just want to, okay? So sit down already."

Meekly, he sat next to her, and dropped his face into his hands. He wiped his cheeks down, ready to cry again, but nothing came out this time. It was a relief, more or less, and he looked at his sister. Her expression was blank, but behind it was a festering sadness; something she **_never_ **felt for Ross.

"So, why did she dump you?"

"Do you have to say 'dumped'? Why can't you say break-up?" Euphemisms were never part of Monica's vocabulary. Sixteen years and Ross still didn't realize it; while he thought of it as an insult, Monica ofund no use in sugar-coating the truth. Innocence was better lost than found.

"I'm not gonna beat around the bush, Ross. You know that's not how I do things."

"Still-" He was interrupted in his futile attempt to stall talking about Melissa. It was sickening, really, at how Monica so desperately wanted to talk to him about this. He didn't want it this way. It was supposed to be when he was ready; Monica thought the time was now.

"Answer the question."

"She didn't tell me why. She just said that we should see other people and left." Melissa said six words to him, and walked away. No remorse, no 'I'm sorry', no nothing. Left hanging in the wind, Ross turned to dust and was swept away by his own anguish.

"Ouch. That's not good."

"No kidding."

"Maybe she's already seeing someone else." It was a little out there to say that, but with her experience of dealing with things like this, it was more than likely already true. When someone says that they want to see other people, it means that they already are. She didn't want to break it to Ross like this, but it was too late.

"What? No way."

"She said she wanted to see other people."

"But still, she wouldn't cheat on me." Melissa was always with Ross, by her own choice. When she first enrolled, Ross was the first to talk to her, because apparently, to everyone else she was too weird. But to him, she was cute and just needed a friend. He was glad he took that chance.

"You're so sure?"

"Well... I guess." It **_was_ **a possibility. Ross didn't want to accept the small chance it was possible, but he had to. Logic finally dictated over emotion, and whether it was true or not, he was still angry and crushed.

"You guess. That's not good enough, Ross."

"Look. I'm gonna get her back anyway. I love her." It was a stretch to say that. They had never said 'I love you' to each other before, as they both thought it was too soon. After the impact of the break-up hit him, he'd do anything. He'd force himself to tell her, if he had to. Ross just wanted to be with her again.

"You love her?"

"Yeah."

"If you loved her, you would have stopped her from just walking away." A philosophical aura surrounded Monica's words. She amazed herself with that statement. While she wasn't exactly an expert on love, it was still a very good thing to say. For once, she had outsmarted Ross.

"Shut up."

"No. It's the truth."

"No, it isn't. I knew I shouldn't have come in here." After saying that in a regretful fashion, Ross stood up and walked towards the door. He denied the allegations Monica had put forth with a passion. He wouldn't accept it. He let Melissa walk away because he deserved it. He wasn't good enough for her, anyway.

"Hey, go ahead and leave. I'm just trying to help."

"Whatever." Ross reached for the doorknob, and pulled the door open, without a single word from Monica. He chose to leave, although he wished it wouldn't have gone this way. As he stepped into the hallway and closed the door, he heard Monica yell at him.

"There are a lot of fish in the sea, Ross."

"Yeah, well, I only want _one:_ Melissa."

With that, he shut the door and went back into his room. He slammed his own door in anger at Monica's statement. How could she possibly understand love, let alone lecture him on it? She had no right, nor any premise. However, no matter how much Ross hated her for saying those things, in the back of his mind, he knew she was right.

But, like most things, he denounced the truth.

Instead, he went to his desk. Practically ripping the drawer from its hinges, he pulled out his yearbook, which he had gotten just the week before. Flipping the pages, he finally caught her, wearing the red blouse that accentuated her freckled and pale skin, and the smile that took his heart from first sight. Now, however, he hated it. Melissa's picture now disgusted him to a point of no return. He so desperately wanted to just rip it out of the book and burn it, but that would accomplish nothing. Instead, he closed his eyes, and flipped the page once more. When he opened them, only one thing caught his eye.

_Rachel._

Her hair had just been feathered that morning; Ross overheard her talking to Monica about it. It looked quite graceful on her, he always thought. Of course, she was in her cheerleading uniform that day, and the red coloring looked much better on her than it did on Melissa.

Ross didn't know why he was looking at Rachel, but he didn't care. He liked it. She was always so pretty, prettier than Melissa always was. Beneath her spoiled and materialistic exterior, she was a kind and loving person. That's why Ross liked her so much. If she _weren't_ all those things, she wouldn't dare be seen with Monica. She even defended her a couple of times. Rachel cared when no one else did. She was separate from the others.

Rachel was perfect. Every second he looked at her, his hatred for Melissa was drained away.

That was when it hit him, harder than Chip ever could; Monica words pulsated through his head, and this time, Ross didn't reject them. They finally _meant_ something, and he understood what Monica was trying to tell him.

There _were_ a lot of fish in the sea, and Ross _did_ only want one; and he was looking right at her.

* * *

**Cheesy ending, I know, but hey, it's a high school fic, what did you expect?**  
**Anyway, I hope you liked it. Now, I promise to finish Hope. **


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